


Hey Little Songbird

by Miredo_Doremi



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Can you tell?, Clay | Dream-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Demonic Possession, Depersonalization, Dream's been acting pretty weird huh, Dreamons, Exorcisms, Gen, Sort Of, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Unconsciousness, Wrongful Imprisonment, i like to torture myself
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:34:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27987045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miredo_Doremi/pseuds/Miredo_Doremi
Summary: For the first time in a long time, Dream wakes up.
Comments: 130
Kudos: 1075
Collections: Dream Demon





	Hey Little Songbird

It starts with the nightmares.

He wasn’t a stranger to them, him and his nightmares were old friends who reconvened often. But as of late, there’s been a distinct development from nightmares to night _terrors_ that leaves Dream shaking and gasping for air upon his return to the waking world. He can never remember them in their entirety, only the feeling of dread that runs up and down his spine when he tries to recall anything important. So, on those nights, he gets up from his bed, washes his damp sheets, and goes for a walk with the silence of a ghost to avoid waking George and Sapnap.

Then it starts happening nightly.

He sees the bags growing darker beneath his red-rimmed eyes and is thankful for the mask. Coffee and energy potions have become a staple diet at this point, the initial shakiness from his night terrors becoming his new norm. He constantly feels on edge with twitchy fingers, seeing movement from the corner of his eyes only to find nothing there. His patience wears thin and unfortunately, Sapnap and George bear the brunt of his outbursts. He sways with lightheadedness and apologizes afterwards, he always does, but the concerned looks on his friends’ faces and the gentle way they usher him to bed makes him feel ill and useless.

“Maybe it’s the war? I know it’s over, but it might still be getting to him.” He hears Sapnap say from behind his closed door. George’s response is lost as the two walk away from his room. Dream doesn’t want to sleep because he knows what it brings, but he can’t stop his eyelids from slipping close.

He wakes up a few hours later and rushes to the toilet, just in time as vomit spews from his lips.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dream almost cries when he overhears Tubbo and Fundy talk about Dreamons in the meadow near L’Manberg. It was accidental, they didn’t realize he was there, but the symptoms they discuss are eerily similar to his experiences and Dream’s getting desperate for any remedy. When he emerges from his hiding place, the two look startled to see him but immediately brighten in excitement when he tentatively asks them to perform an exorcism. He only hopes that the two know what they’re doing.

The marble slab beneath him is cold and unwelcoming and he finds himself questioning if this is a good idea, but it’s too late to back out now. Fundy lights white candles around him, each one sitting in a small circle that connects to one another in an intricate pentagonal design. Tubbo stands a few feet away holding a book bound with worn leather and bursting with browning pages. The fox hybrid scampers to Tubbo’s side as the last candle is lit, retrieving an iron sword and a few iron doors from a chest, much to Dream’s confusion. Before he can question it, the chanting begins and…nothing happens.

Neither of the Dreamon hunters take notice of Dream’s yawn. Suddenly the slab is feeling more comfortable, a perfect resting spot. He feels bad for a moment, after all, sleeping in the middle of an exorcism might be perceived as a rude gesture, but the soothing chants escaping Tubbo’s lips turn his eyelids into weights and they begin to close slowly. Just as they slip shut, there’s a hot spike of pain in his head and, rather than waking up, Dream is pulled deeper and deeper into an unnatural void of sleep.

When he wakes up, nothing is right. He’s floating in a wide expanse of darkness, limbs unresponsive. After several attempts, Dream wonders if he even has a body anymore. There’s a noise in the background but it’s too distorted to make out the words. Then there’s light flooding his vision and he can see but…it’s not right. Everything is distorted, akin to obscured glass windows one can find in bathrooms. The colors blend together, and every individual feature is gone. He still can’t move or sense his limbs and startles when his body begins to shift without his consent. ~~Dream~~ His body sits up from the slab and through visual clues, he can make out the blurred forms of Tubbo and Fundy. The background noise grows louder but it’s still muffled as if he were underwater. It sounds like they’re speaking to him. Without a second thought, Dream goes to shake his head to clear his ears of imaginary water. But there is no physical head to shake. Shock gives way to panic and the direness of the situation is beginning to dawn on him.

 _Let me out! Let me go!_ He mentally screams. He can vaguely feel his mouth, his real one, move on its own accord and the frustration grows when he realizes that the movements don’t match up with his thoughts. Whoever or whatever is using his body either doesn’t notice he’s still very much present or doesn’t care.

Dream goes to yell again when a sudden pressure pushes him back, shoving him deeper into his mind until he can’t see or hear anything at all.

When he resurfaces, he doesn’t know how much time has passed. His limited sight and hearing returns, and he registers the dark green of his surroundings as a forest. There’s a figure in front of him, features harder to make out in the night’s shade but their movements are erratic, and their volume is loud enough that Dream thinks he can hear his name being called. He goes to reach out in any way he can, but instead his physical hand holds out multiple bright red, cylindrical objects. _TNT_. He wants to protest, to stop the interaction in its tracks, but then there’s another push and he’s falling and falling and falling and…

The rest comes in pieces.

The pervading smell of alcohol.

Loud explosions and screaming, everything’s so bright.

Now he’s the one yelling (no it’s not him, it’s not _him_ ) and there’s a blur of white and red (Tommy) and he thinks he hears (Spirit? He had loved that horse).

George and Sapnap are yelling at him. (please, please that’s someone else, it’s not him, someone _listen to him_ )

Slipping. He’s so cold.

There’s so much blood. He can’t feel its warmth.

Tommy. There’s so much Tommy. Tommy by the beach, Tommy by the lava, Tommy alone. (Tommy…?).

There’s a lot of black. Almost as much as there is Tommy. He can’t tell what it is he’s looking at.

Sometimes, he sees red, but its not the comforting red of Tommy’s shirt. It’s this pulsing red that penetrates his nonexistent retinas and whenever his body is near, his mind cowers in fear and he can feel himself getting weaker. Whoever is piloting his body doesn’t even need to push him back like usual, he willingly succumbs to the dark just to get away from the red tendrils that reach out to him.

He senses when the tide shifts. The body is moving more than usual, rough and uncoordinated. The faint sensation of pain hits him like a dull ache and his vision spins in a kaleidoscope of colors. There are shouts, but they aren’t the anger filled ones he’s become accustomed to hearing. No, these shouts are whoops of victory. Dream finds himself wishing he could join in. The push, having devolved into a slight nudge over time, signals to him that it’s time to go under again. With little resistant, he complies.

\------------------------------------------------------------

For the first time in a long time, Dream wakes up. The bed beneath him isn’t the most comfortable with its scratchy sheets and flat pillow but he nearly cries because _he can finally touch something._ Attempting to sit up proves difficult after having his mobility taken from him. After a few minutes, weak arms propping him up, he looks around. The room he’s in is dim and dark, Dream can’t make out any objects near him. The walls are pitch black with snaking grooves and his breath catches when he realizes exactly what this room is made out of.

He throws himself off the bed, tripping over sluggish limbs, and starts desperately feeling every inch of the floor and walls to the best of his ability.

“ _No no no no_ ,” he whispers as his worst fear is confirmed. There are no windows. There are no doors. He’s in a tomb of obsidian with nothing but the plain clothes on his back and the bed he woke up on. It’s then that he notices the air kissing his naked face. He didn’t even have his mask anymore.

“Hello?” He calls, wincing as the noise echoes back toward him and lowers his voice. “What’s happening?” Hands unconsciously trace the grooves of the obsidian. “Anyone? Where am I?”

Dream searches for memories that can clue him in on what exactly this place is and why he’s here. The earliest memory he has is laying on the slab before the exorcism. Nothing else comes after except his awakening here, in this obsidian prison.

Did his friends know he was here? Surely, George and Sapnap would have noticed his disappearance by now. There was no way to tell how long he had been in here.

“George? Sapnap?”

As he struggles to stand, he feels something shift in his pocket and he can’t dig it out fast enough. He still has his communicator, a small green pager-like device littered with spiderweb cracks and flecks of blood. He ignores the disquieting details for now, choosing to frantically type out a message to everyone in the server.

**Hello? Anyone?**

**Where am I?**

**Is everyone okay?**

**What’s happening?**

**_Sapnap?_ **

**_Gogy?_ **

**_Hello?_ **

****

****

The prison structure Dream commissioned him to build has to be Sam’s greatest work yet. It took months of planning, sketching, building, and rebuilding for the end result to be as great as it is. The room meant to hold the prisoner itself was rather small, only a few strides wide and long, and encased in multiple layers of obsidian to prevent any break outs. If the prisoner did manage to escape, the extensive redstone traps and alarms Sam had mapped out took care of the rest. Consequently, it was soundproof which Dream found to be a bonus. Originally, he believed the prison had been meant for Technoblade, one of the only people on the server who could best Dream in combat. It was oddly poetic, however, that the commissioner of such an exaggerated prison had become the prisoner himself.

The final battle with Dream had been difficult, even with their advantage in numbers. He fought like a demon, wounds barely holding him back and Sam swore he heard him hiss a few times during the fight. In the end, it was Sapnap who delivered the final blow to the neck, taking a bloodied Dream down with a single swing.

Once a month. That’s how often Sam did a check up of the prison to make sure everything was still running smoothly. He wasn’t being paid anymore, his source of income being imprisoned and all, but he still felt an obligation to do it considering he had made the prison for a bloodthirsty tyrant, almost no questions asked. It was the least he could do for the scarred citizens of New L’Manberg, the Badlands, the SMP, and…whatever the fuck Quackity was governing.

It isn’t until he actually enters the prison that he hears his communicator buzz. Sam goes to pull it out, pausing when the buzzing starts to intensify with hardly any intervals in between. His first thought is that Tommy is ranting about something inane that he felt important enough to share with everyone on the whole damn server. But when he reads the messages, chills go down his spine when he sees who the messenger is.

The communicator was a pity decision. Even Dream let Tommy have his communicator while he was exiled, and it was such a staple part of their server that it felt wrong to take it from a member, no matter their crimes. Especially in a place so cut off from the outside world. Of course, everyone had the option to mute Dream if they didn’t wish to see his messages. As far as Sam knew, however, not a single message had been sent nor received. He didn’t dwell on it much at the time but now he realizes an obvious mistake he had overlooked. Communicators work well over long distances, but even they weren’t strong enough to relay a message through dozens of obsidian walls interlaced with a network of redstone. Any messages sent from within the prison wouldn’t be received until another communicator came into range, where they would arrive all at once.

Sam gulps as he reads the messages, the pit in his stomach growing bigger. He has a feeling he needs to talk with Tubbo as soon as possible.

**Dream: Hello?**

**Dream: Hello?**

**Dream: Is this working?**

**Dream: Can anyone hear me?**

**Dream: Please I don’t know what’s happening**

**Dream: Gogy? Pandas?**

**Dream: Anyone?**

**\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**

**Dream: please**

**Dream: please, I’m stuck**

**Dream: what did I do**

**Dream: why am I here**

**Dream: I’m sorry**

**Dream: I’m sorry**

**Dream: I’ll be good**

**Dream: please let me out**

**\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**

**Dream: no one’s seeing this**

**\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**

**Dream: im sorry**

**Dream: im sorry**

**Dream: im sorry**

**Dream: im sorry**

**Dream: im sorry**

**Dream: im sorry**

**Dream: im sorry**

**Dream: im sorry**

**Dream: im sorry**

**Author's Note:**

> Want to feel sadder? Imagine Dream desperately screaming alone while New L'Manberg throws a festival in his defeat :)
> 
> In case your wondering, Dream gets possessed after the events of the first war. Schlatt, the Election, Pogtopia, he has no idea what those things are. The Dreamon leaves his body as soon as it realizes it's trapped, leaving Dream to deal with the aftermath.
> 
> (P.S. may make this a two shot so stay tuned ;) )


End file.
